


like sunlight on your skin

by orihime



Category: Bleach
Genre: Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, F/M, tags and rating will change accordingly, warnings in each individual chapter if needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orihime/pseuds/orihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a quiet, gentle love that goes both ways and fills them up from the crown of their heads to the tip of their toes—that inspires them and helps them move forward, overcoming every challenge thrown their way, hand in hand, no matter what happens.<br/>Or, alternatively, a series of one-shots to fill for the prompts of the fanfics week of the IchiHime month on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lips like sugar

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written IchiHime in years, which is weird because it's my favorite pairing above all the others. Anyways, I figured I'd drop this in here! All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, like always. Enjoy!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo steps in ABCookies at Yuzu’s request, hoping to find some of those honey buns she likes so much. What he doesn’t expect to find, however, is the love of his life. AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was "love at first sight"

It was a sunny Sunday morning when Ichigo stepped out of his house, his wallet tucked safely in his pocket and Yuzu’s voice in his head, reminding him of everything she wanted him to buy for her. Tomatoes, cabbages, carrots and cucumbers; rice, curry powder, and apple juice. A bottle of sake for dad and a few bananas for Karin, and he had been given permission to buy a few chocolates as well to keep for when they felt like eating something sweet. But most importantly—Yuzu had said—he needed to get to ABCookies and bring some of their honey buns that his youngest sister was so crazy about, along with some other treats to share with his sister’s friends, who were coming to his house to hang out after lunch.

A light breeze ruffled through his hair as he made his way down town, and upon inhaling through his nose he could smell the spring in the air; the scent of the cherry blossoms around him making his nose crinkle in approval: spring was indeed one of Ichigo’s favorite seasons. He walked without his trademark scowl on his face, the ideal weather only helping in making his mood better, and he briefly thought that if Yuzu had been the one to go grocery shopping today, she’d walk by with small skips on her steps.

Passing by several stores to collect all the groceries he had to take home hadn’t taken long, and by the time he stepped out of the supermarket with the few items he was missing only 20 minutes had passed, and with a handful of bags he made his way towards his last destination before going back home. After walking down several blocks he spotted the big, colorful sign of ABCookies at the end of the street, and taking long strides he approached the shop and stepped inside; the bell ringing as he pushed the door open, and at the same time the sweet smell of freshly baked bread and pastries assaulted his nose, and with just that he could understand why his sister liked this bakery so much.

Taking a look around, Ichigo took note of the warm environment of the shop: the walls were painted with a light pink colour, several frames lined up on the left one with what he assumed were pictures of the owners and workers of the shop; a wallpaper with a floral pattern giving the finishing touches to the decoration of the concrete covering the bottom half of it, and the shelves displaying their pastries were coloured white with a few streaks of silver here and there. The teen approached one of the display shelves as in a trance; everything looked absolutely delicious. Especially those chocolate covered donuts, and that one chocolate cake with cream and strawberry filling. There were also chocolate filled anpan, and chocolate manju, and also—

“Excuse me, can I help you?” a voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he reluctantly tore his gaze away from the chocolaty heaven before him in favor of addressing the person that had called out to him.

When the orange-haired teen laid his dark brown eyes on the shop employee that had offered him her help, the fleeting thought that it would be more appropriate to simply label this bakery as ‘heaven’, chocolaty or not, passed through the back of his mind. The voice—the slightly high-pitched, musical, almost angelic voice—belonged to a petite young woman who looked about his age and downright _gorgeous_ , and Ichigo inhaled sharply as he took in her features: the alabaster skin of her face tinted with a faint blush on her cheeks, the big, round, bright brown eyes framed by impossibly long eyelashes; her small, delicate nose, and underneath it a pair of plump, pink lips that Ichigo wanted to reach out and run his thumb over to find out if they were as soft as they looked; and maybe, if she’d let him, he could crouch down a little bit and cup one of her cheeks in his hand, tilting her head towards him as he got closer, and then they’d close their eyes and he would close the distance between them, slowly, and finally; he’d press his lips to—“Um, sir?”

He snapped his mouth shut as he was snapped out of his daydreaming, and he had been unaware of his parted lips as he stared at the young girl before him, now seeming a little flustered, and he wanted to punch himself in the face for blatantly staring like that and making her uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” He said, and he cleared his throat before turning his gaze to the pastries once more, to try and get his thoughts together; not to hide his blush, he was _not_ blushing. Ichigo Kurosaki didn’t blush. Ever.

The pastries. Yuzu asked him. For her friends.

“Do you have any buns left, honey?” he asked, and there were a few moments of silence between them that felt like an eternity before he realized what he had said; and suddenly his face felt as if it was on fire as he looked at the petite woman behind the counter—and no, he was still _not_ blushing—and he tripped over his words as he corrected himself: “Bu-buns! Honey buns! I meant ho-honey buns, doyouhaveanyhoneybunsleft?”

Silence once again stretched between them, and the girl still hadn’t answered his question; instead looking at him with slightly parted lips and her eyes—how were they so _big_ , and so _bright_ , and so _beautiful_ —wide open, and he was considering turning on his heels and dash out of the shop and never come back ever again in his life when he was startled out of his thoughts by her sudden fit of giggles, that escalated into full-blown laughter that she tried to stifle behind her tiny, delicate hand. “I-I’m sorry!” she said between wheezes and giggles. Ichigo merely watched, completely mesmerized by the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and they shone in amusement as she laughed, and the sound; cliché as it was, could only be described as music to his ears, and he thought he wouldn’t mind to hear it again: if he had to make a fool of himself to get her to laugh like that again, he’d do it as many times as was necessary.  “You just,” she spoke once more, when her laughter subsided. “You just looked so _funny_ , your face reminded me of a strawberry! A strawberry with orange leaves” she giggled, and he brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat once more.

“Funny,” he said, “that’s my name” he offered, a small smile on his face. “Ichigo, I mean. My name’s Ichigo.” The taller of the two mentally kicked himself and he briefly thanked every god he knew the name of that netiher Renji nor Rukia were around to make fun of his behavior in the shop, or his lame attempt at hitting on this girl. And since when was he hitting on her?

“Ichigo-kun, huh” she replied with a shy smile adorning her face and her cheeks flushing a darker red than their natural light pink colour; and the way she said his name made him feel light and warm all over. He almost asked her to say it again, and again, and again. “My name is Orihime,” the girl—Orihime, the name suited her; he was sure she could pass as the fairest princess in the world—continued, and offered a shy _it’s nice to meet you_ , with a bright smile on her face before she asked, “So, honey buns? We still have some of those, would you like anything else?”

Ichigo _did not_ think of asking for her number, because they had just met, in a bakery shop, and that would be inappropriate and kind of creepy and he wasn’t a desperate old man, it had been enough accidentally calling her _honey_. So he instead offered the list of pastries Yuzu had asked, and she must’ve somehow recognized who they were for as she gasped quietly and asked with wide eyes, “Could it be… you’re Yuzu-chan’s big brother?!”

Cocking an eyebrow, Ichigo replied. “I am. Do we know each other?” and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because no; of course they didn’t know each other, Ichigo was sure he’d remember such a beautiful girl had he seen her somewhere else before.

“No, we don’t. But I do know Yuzu-chan, she drops by the shop frequently with her friends after school, and she loves those honey buns,” Orihime explained as she placed the pastries he had asked in a paper tray, “And she told me she had a big brother with a fruity name who got on fights a lot because of his unusual hair colour” she finished, a small smile on his face, and he lingered on the description of his name. Fruity. He had never heard anyone refer to his name as fruity, but it was better than referring to it as _girly_. “She also told me your face was constantly stuck in a scowl but I guess that was just an exaggeration?”

Those words were the cue for him to plaster said scowl on his face. “My face isn’t constantly stuck in a scowl,” he said, and almost pouted.

“There it is!” was Orihime’s reply, and when he looked at her her smile had gotten even wider, and her eyes were glinting with amusement as she looked at him; and when he directed his scowl at her, her response was to burst into a new fit of giggles that didn’t last as long as the last one. “You’re funny,” she said, and he congratulated himself even though he hadn’t been trying to be funny, but hey, it was a good thing that she thought of him like that, right?

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, and wiped the scowl on his face in order to offer her a small, warm smile; feeling his gaze softening, and it seemed to have certain effect on her as she sputtered and went back to her task of collecting the pastries Ichigo was about to take home and quickly packed them and informed him of the price he had to pay.

After paying for the treats and getting his change in return, Ichigo took his bag off the counter at the same time Orihime spoke: “Then, Ichigo-kun… see you around?” she asked, and there was something akin to hope in the tone of her voice that made Ichigo feel the butterflies in his stomach that Yuzu’s shoujo manga spoke so much of.

He took one last look at her, making sure to engrave in his mind how small and cute she looked with her uniform on: how soft and shiny her auburn hair looked and how her bangs framed her heart-shaped face, the colour of it just a bit darker than that of her irises, and the small hat sitting on the crown of her head just adding to the _adorableness_ factor of her appearance; before he replied with a soft, “Yeah. See you around.”

Ichigo nodded his head as she offered a quiet _bye bye_ with a last lingering smile on her face, and he turned around and exited the shop. The walk back home seemed to take half the time it took to get to ABCookies, and he barely registered entering his house and placing the grocery bags on the kitchen counter: his mind was full of Orihime. A few moments after he entered the house, Yuzu came to greet him and speak to him, probably making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, but her words were lost in the air and he simply asked, almost unaware of the words slipping past his lips. “Hey, Yuzu. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

His younger sister just looked at him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head, a startled _huh?!_ Flying out of her mouth, and then her eyes caught the bags from the bakery shop, and her confused scowl melted into an almost sly smile as she spoke, a teasing tone on her voice: “Oh. You met Orihime-chan, didn’t you?”

Ichigo only sighed, and looked back at the bags holding the delicious treats inside, and he replied with a mere, “Yeah.”


	2. we'll be safe and sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the trip to the Soul King’s palace, Ichigo makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was "promise"

The trip to the Soul King’s palace hadn’t taken long; not really, but for the three people travelling inside the cannon it felt like an eternity. The turbulence of the cannon surging upwards wasn’t anywhere near as intense as their inner turmoil, the anxiety and anticipation of what was waiting for them at their destination making a thin layer of cold sweat cover their skin.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have faith in themselves or their comrades; though, but there was always the possibility of something going terribly wrong. The three of them had seen what their enemy was capable of, and they knew that maybe, just maybe, confronting Aizen and his army had been nothing but a warm up for the real decisive battle against the quincies.

Orihime sat still with her legs folded and tucked underneath her, quietly watching Ichigo from the corner of her eyes. She recalled the last time she found herself in a similar situation, with Ishida by her side, quickly moving towards the dome of Las Noches, where she’d witness Ulquiorra murdering her friend right in front of her eyes upon their arrival, and with a barely noticeable shudder she closed her eyes and prayed that something like that wouldn’t happen again.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind though, it vanished: nothing like that would happen, because this time things were different, because now _she_ would be there alongside Ichigo from the very beginning, and as long as she didn’t leave his side he would stay alive, because she would heal his every injury. That was what she had promised to herself, the promise she had voiced out loud and Sado had been witness to. She had worked hard to become stronger, and she had achieved her goal, and she would keep her promise for as long as she lived. Of that, there was no doubt.

When her eyelids fluttered open again, she looked to her side and caught Ichigo’s gaze, who was watching her intently, and she briefly wondered if he had seen through her. She parted her lips to say something, but the substitute shinigami beat her to it: “Everything’s gonna be alright,” he said, and switched his gaze towards Sado, who nodded in agreement, in reassurance, letting them know that he was thinking the same. “We’ll be okay, we’ll win this,” Ichigo continued, and he lowered his eyes to direct his determined, heated glare to the floor as he kept going, “We’ll fight, and we’ll win, and we’ll kick Ishida’s ass and drag him back home with us.” He finished, and turned to look at Orihime once more, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in her surprised expression; which quickly melted into what she hoped was a determined and reassuring smile. Everything would be okay, Ichigo had said so, and she believed in his word.

They continued to chat and exchange information during the rest of the jouney, Ichigo telling them about the strength of the quincies he had encountered in the Soul Society, about Yhwach, about the Royal Guard and the Soul King’s palace; and in turn, Sado and Orihime told him about Urahara’s plan, the time they spent in Hueco Mundo, and the arrancar they had recruited.

Ishida wasn’t mentioned much, partly because there was an implicit _“we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it”_ agreement between the three of them, partly because it pained them greatly to think of the young quincy as their enemy. They knew right from the moment they found out who their enemy was that there was a possibility of this exact situation happening, but they never thought it could actually become a reality: not one of them wanted to doubt the friend they had gone through so much with, side by side. Even so, this reality where Ishida was no longer standing beside them, but against them, weighed heavily on their shoulders; and although Urahara had said not to move inside the cannon, Orihime fidgeted in her spot, itching to get closer to Ichigo and smooth the pained scowl off his face with her fingertips.

Ichigo must’ve noticed her restlessness, because after a brief moment of silence he asked, “You alright, Inoue?” and Orihime’s eyes, which were focused on the floor of the cannon while she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, switched to look at the orange-haired teen and the worried expression he was wearing on his face.

“Hn,” she said, relaxing her expression into a small smile, “I’m just a little nervous” she lied; because she didn’t have any choice, because it was no time to be worrying Ichigo when what he needed was his friend’s support.

“Don’t be,” Ichigo replied, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he ignored Urahara’s words and slowly shifted closer to Orihime; making the cannon rattle loudly—eliciting a curse from the substitute shinigami’s lips, a startled squeak from Orihime, and a low _Ichigo_ from Sado, reminding him that the cannon wasn’t the safest form of transport—but even so, he didn’t stop until he was sitting close enough for one of his knees to bump slightly against Orihime’s, and with a deep inhale and the briefest moment of hesitation, one of his hands came to rest on one of Orihime’s which were balled to small fists on her lap.

The feeling of Ichigo’s warmth covering her hand made her heart stutter, and her breath was caught in her throat as she looked up at her friend in surprise, and the sight she was greeted with made her heartbeat skyrocket: Ichigo was looking at her, his gaze more intense than she had ever seen it; his narrow, dark brown eyes tinted with determination and strength and warmth as he looked into her own honey-coloured eyes, his eyebrows drawn together into that scowl she had come to love so much. “We’ll be okay, all of us” he spoke, and as he did so he sneaked the hand that was covering hers underneath it, and intertwined their fingers together; a barely noticeable—but definitely there—blush colouring his cheeks pink. He gave her hand a light but firm squeeze before he continued: “All of this will be over soon, and we’ll all go back home together. I promise.”

At his words, Orihime couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes, all the emotions she had been trying to keep under control becoming overwhelming, and she sniffed before rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, her other one squeezing Ichigo’s own hand tightly, not wanting him to let go just yet. “I’m sorry,” she said, and inhaled deeply to compose herself before looking at Ichigo once more, eyebrows knit together mimicking her friend’s determined look, and she wondered how silly she must look; trying to frown while her eyes were watery and probably puffy and red and her expression probably looked more like a pout than anything, but she was trying nonetheless.

“I believe in you, Kurosaki-kun.” She spoke, and squeezed his hand once more, “I’ll do my best, too, to bring Ishida-kun back to us. Sado-kun as well” Orihime finished, and turned to look at Sado, who had been trying his best to give them a little privacy by turning his gaze to the side, but turned back to them at their words, sporting the same heated, determined expression than his friends, and supported Orihime’s words with his own, silent feelings: nodding his head shortly to remind Ichigo that the three of them were together in this, now more than ever; and that they would fight side by side until the end.

The rest of the journey passed by quicker at this point, with the three of them still chatting about their current situation and strategies they came up with. Ichigo mentioned the Royal Guard once more and tried to explain to them that they were more powerful than they could probably imagine, and although it wasn’t exactly a lifesaver, it was reassuring and put them a little bit at ease to know that they were going to fight alongside such powerful shinigami.

Their shoulders weren’t tense with apprehension anymore, and they found themselves considerably more relaxed than when they had first gotten in the cannon, and it was then that Orihime noticed Ichigo’s thumb caressing the back of her hand still intertwined with his, and the action made her gaze soften as a light blush tinted her cheeks a deep pink, her body feeling lighter than ever before and her chest becoming warmer by the second. She lifted her gaze to Ichigo, a small smile adorning her lips, and as she watched him speak to Sado she knew she had been silly for worrying. This was just another trial that they would overcome together no matter how hard it may come to be, the three of them, and by the time they made their journey back home it would be in their small group of four again.

Ichigo had promised, after all.


	3. make it all better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo is no stranger to fights, and he can take good care of his wounds; but he doesn’t mind when Orihime is the one to tend to them for him. AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** failed attempts at writing fighting scenes and violence, and also fluff, and also some cursing and Ichigo being cheesy.
> 
> The prompt for this was "hurt"

It wasn’t uncommon, really, people ganging up on him and roping him into fights he didn’t want to take any part in; but that when started, there was no way of stopping them until either he or his opponent was lying on the floor, unable to fight any longer. Ichigo was used to this: day in, day out, there was always some asshole who picked a fight with him; either because they thought _his natural hair colour_ wasn’t natural and that he was trying to look _cool_ and _edgy_ , or because his _scowl and tough guy look_ pissed them off. It was always because of the same petty reasons, and he found the situation utterly ridiculous—not to mention tiring and irritating _as hell_ —, but he dealt with them and that was it.

Today in particular, though, he felt like raising his gaze to the sky, opening his arms and just yelling, _really?!_ When, in the walk back home from his part-time job, he found a teal-haired young man that was no more than a year or two older than him, and had a weird fucking obsession with beating the living daylights out of Ichigo. He had first met Grimmjow while walking down one of the shadiest parts in Karakura, and the dude had wasted no time in jumping at Ichigo’s throat with something along the lines of _those eyes that say ‘nobody can beat me’ piss me off, are you looking down on me, I’ll kick your ass into next week you shitstain_ as an excuse.

Ichigo had never experienced what having his ass kicked into next week was like, though, because for some reason or another his fights with Grimmjow always were being interrupted: it was either someone from Grimmjow’s gang in a higher position than him coming to drag his ass back to business, or the police, or whoever it was that fate decided should put a stop to their fight. And every single time, Ichigo knew Grimmjow would find him again, claiming that they had a score to settle and _if you’re not gonna fight me, Kurosaki, then stay still and let me kill you_. As if Ichigo would do that.

And here he was; he had lost count already of all the times Grimmjow and he had crossed fists already. The older male seemed to be by himself today, though, so maybe there was a chance this would be their last fight, and with that thought in mind Ichigo let his schoolbag slip to the floor and fall with a dull thud, and popped his neck before speaking: “Let’s get this over with.”

“You said it, asshole,” were the words thrown back at him, a dangerous smirk playing on Grimmjow’s lips and his voice laced with venom and raw hatred, and Ichigo had no idea why Grimmjow hated him so much but hey; whatever, it’s not as if he was going to die because someone felt animosity towards him.  The two males surged forwards and managed to connect one fist to the other’s cheek simultaneously, and Ichigo felt the sting of his lower lip being cut before tasting the blood on his mouth, instantly ducking and aiming for the other one’s stomach.

The fight seemed to last forever, uninterrupted: they kicked and threw punches and slammed each other into buildings and light posts, they landed blows that had their breaths wheezing out of them, and by the time they were both reaching their limit, they were a complete mess: Ichigo had several cuts along his eyebrows and cheeks, one of his eyes starting to swell enough to make seeing a bit difficult, no doubt sporting a nasty bruise on it as well, his shirt was dirtied and ripped in several places, his arms scratched, his back sore. There was blood trickling out of his mouth and dripping down his chin from where Grimmjow’s fist had caused the skin to crash with his own teeth violently, resulting in several cuts, ones deeper than others, and a few bites at his tongue.

And Grimmjow wasn’t in a better condition, really; Ichigo would never let himself get his ass handed to him without laying a few blows of his own at his opponent, and he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of pride at the sight of the mess he had made of a man as strong as Grimmjow: the older male stood with his back slightly hunched, wheezing lightly as blood trickled down the side of his face where Ichigo had cut his skin, just above his right eyebrow, and he was sporting a bloody nose as well; and the scratches and bruises running down his arms matched Ichigo’s own. His hair was disheveled and dirty from when Ichigo managed to tackle him to the floor and straddle him to land a few punches on his face, until Grimmjow had knocked the breath out of him by swinging a punch at his stomach.

Both of them surged forward once more at the same time, ready to land the decisive strike on the other; but Ichigo was faster, more agile, and when Grimmjow tried to swing his fist at him he ducked and dodged it, landing his own fist with every bit of strength he had against the other’s stomach, headbutting Grimmjow when he was still breathless and successfully knocking him to the floor, ending the fight. “I win.” He wheezed, and took one last look at the teal-haired man who lied on the floor trying to catch his breath and greeted him with a middle finger, before turning back; picking up his bag and fleeing the scene as fast as he could before Grimmjow gathered his strength again because, really, the guy knew how to fight. That and even his soul was hurting at this point. He really needed to get home and rest.

Only, he never got to his house; being stopped in his way by a frantic, worried shout of “Kurosaki-kun?!” and he mentally cursed because out of all the people he’d want to see him like this, Orihime was the last one. Still, he stopped in his tracks and turned tired eyes towards the source of the voice, and indeed there she was: a few bags of groceries in her hands, an expression on her face that was a mixture of fear and worry and exasperation as she sprinted towards him and took in his appearance before questioning: “ _What_ happened to you?”

Ichigo was about to reply that he had gotten into the fight of his life when Orihime interrupted even before he could start to speak. “Never mind, come with me. Here,” she said, and held her grocery bags with one hand so that she could sneak her free arm around Ichigo’s waist, and he was about to ask just _what_ was she doing when she continued, “Lean on me, my apartment isn’t far from here, we can take care of your wounds there.”

The orange-haired teen hesitated, starting with a “It’s okay, Inoue, I can take care of—“ but was quickly silenced by the frown she directed at him; and he thought that maybe what she had meant by it was _please follow me and don’t complain because I’m going to drag you to my apartment and take care of you whether you like it or not_ , but instead what he got was _I’m incredibly adorable and you should come with me so I can make it all better even if I were to only hold your hand_.

So he had no choice other than to follow, partly because he was tired as hell and sore all over and could use some help, and partly because spending time with Inoue and have her take care of him sounded incredibly appealing. So he rested his arm around her shoulders and leaned slightly on her, not wanting to let her support all his weight, but just enough so that walking wouldn’t hurt so much. And with that the pair found themselves standing at the front door of Orihime’s apartment, and he took his weight off of her to lean on the wall as she fumbled through her pockets, looking for her keys.

Once they were both inside she asked him to sit at the low coffee table in the living room while she went to place her groceries on the kitchen counter and look for the first-aid kit. Ichigo did as he was asked and waited patiently for her to return, and as he did so he felt how the little bit of adrenaline left from his earlier fight left his body, and exhaustion caught up to him in no time. His left eye was by now completely swollen and he knew he wouldn’t be able to see from it for a few days, and he groaned at the thought: he knew his dad would give him hell for it. Same old about how he hadn’t raised a delinquent son. Whatever, it wasn’t his fault that his natural appearance pissed people off.

His thoughts drifted away from his dad and he carefully observed his surroundings, his good eye lazily scanning Orihime’s living room. It was a simple, small apartment: the room he was currently in small but cozy, the coffee table lying in the middle of it and around it, several cushions for guests to sit in, Sora’s altar against the peach-coloured wall right by the window at Ichigo’s left, and at his right a dark, wooden cupboard, several frames lining on display on top of it, pictures of what Ichigo recognized were Orihime and her friends—he could see Tatsuki, Rukia, Rangiku, and there were even pictures of Ichigo, Chad, Renji, Ishida—in them.

There were two visible wooden doors at the other end of the wall the cupboard was resting against: one was the kitchen door, a small, narrow space that felt crowded when there were more than two people in it, and if you crossed the distance to the other end, you’d get to the small laundry room. Down the narrow hallway leading to the bathroom was located the other wooden door, which gave way to Orihime’s own room; a room he had only caught a few glimpses of when the auburn-haired teen went in and out of it. And then there was the bathroom, a small but always immaculate room, its walls decorated with white tiles with light blue sea themed patterns, equipped with only the basic bathroom needs: a shower head positioned right above the bathtub, a small countertop with a mirror resting above it, a toilet and a narrow but tall cupboard that he could hear Orihime rummaging through, still looking for the first-aid kit to tend to Ichigo’s wounds.

It was at that moment that Ichigo realized that it was the first time that he came by himself into his friend’s apartment: every time he had been here had been in the company of one or more of their friends; but there was no one aside from Orihime and him this time. The thought made his cheeks feel a bit warmer and his heart beat slightly faster, and he fidgeted in his spot before coughing lightly to clear his throat. He wasn’t a schoolgirl; there was no reason to act like one, even if he was alone with possibly the cutest, most attractive girl in Karakura that he had been harboring a not-so-small-anymore crush on, in her own apartment.

Said girl chose that exact moment to walk back in the room, and Ichigo had never felt more self-conscious and aware of his surroundings, and his company, before. “Okay, Kurosaki-kun,” she said, while she placed the first-aid kit and a bowl with warm water and a washcloth on the table before taking a look at him. “I’m going to need you to, ah—um. Ta-take your shirt off, please,” Orihime finished, the tone of her voice laced with nervousness and her face red with embarrassment, and Ichigo sputtered and let out a surprised _HAH?!_ Before looking down at himself and noticing that Orihime was only trying to tend to some cuts—that were actually still bleeding a little—down his arms and torso that he hadn’t noticed before.

He quickly did as he was told and stood still in his seat, his upper body now naked and a thick, awkward silence hanging heavy between both of them. Orihime cleared her throat and, still sporting a very bright blush on her face, turned to the bowl and soaked the washcloth in it before moving towards Ichigo: “I’m going to clean your wounds first,” she said, grabbing Ichigo’s left arm with her free hand and extending it so she could wash off the blood with the now wet cloth. She pressed it against the cuts gently so as to avoid it starting to bleed again, and once she was done wiping off the blood she sprayed antiseptic directly on the cuts before wrapping them up with the bandages just tight enough to keep it from bleeding again, and moved to give his other arm the same treatment before turning her attention to his back.

All the while, Ichigo stood frozen still, the places where Orihime touched his skin with her own feeling as if they were on fire, her fingers drawing irregular patterns on his skin, leaving on their wake a trail of heat that made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end, left his arms covered in goosebumps, made his breath hitch.

He refused to let his thoughts wander: fantasizing about your crush when they were being kind enough to take care of the wounds you got because you couldn’t help getting into a fistfight to the point of getting a boner was nowhere near acceptable, and he wasn’t about to let himself come to that situation. But, the things Orihime made him feel were there, and her gentle hands on him were at the same time a relief to his physical pain and a curse, and he made himself think of anything else other than the situation they were currently in, or how her hands would feel on his skin were this a different situation—Isshin doing the hula wearing nothing but a thong. Isshin embarrassing his kids on beach trips by wearing leopard-print speedos and displaying his nasty, hairy chest for all to see and drawing attention to himself, and them by extension, by yelling about what a sex symbol he was. Isshin.

That did the trick. Only until Orihime shifted her attention to the wounds on Ichigo’s face.

“I’m almost done,” she said, and soaked the washcloth once more before cupping his cheek with her free hand and moving the other one to press the cloth to the wounds on his eyebrows, carefully avoiding his swollen eye. Ichigo couldn’t help but lean the slightest bit to the touch, her tiny hand against his cheek spreading its warmth down Ichigo’s entire body, and his eyes were glued to her face: she had her eyebrows drawn together in deep concentration, her eyes carefully going over some point above Ichigo’s left eye, her lips slightly parted, pink tongue peeking out slightly to rest between them, and he couldn’t help but linger his gaze there, wondering what would it feel like to kiss her, what would she react like. Would she gently push him off of her, and in her kind, gentle way let him know that she didn’t like him like that? Would she sigh and close her eyes, wrapping her skinny arms around his neck, and kiss him back? Would she cry, call him a pervert and kick him out of her apartment, and never speak to him again?

Ichigo’s self-restraint was at its limits by the time Orihime finished dressing his wounds, and he was gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to keep himself under control, until he realized that although his wounds were already cleaned off and bandaged, Orihime was still resting her palm against his cheek. “Inoue…?” he asked, and she replied by giving him a look that was full of worry with a hint of sadness and something else he failed to recognize, her gaze soft and her eyes glistening.

“Please don’t get hurt anymore,” she spoke, and her voice was tight and warm and soft, and Ichigo felt like kicking his own ass for putting such an expression on her face, for making her hurt like that by getting himself hurt. He exhaled through his parted lips, raising a hand to cover the one that was cupping his cheek, rubbing his thumb along her fingers.

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try,” he replied, knowing all too well that even in his best days there was always looking to beat him up, so fighting was kind of unavoidable. But he would try, if it meant putting Orihime’s worries at ease. “You don’t need to worry, Inoue.” He finished, and hoped she would understand. Her reply was nothing but a quiet, _un_ , accompanied by a short nod of her head before a small, soft, relieved smile curved her lips upwards, and that and her watery eyes on him shattered the last bits of self-control he had left.

Slowly, carefully, as if he was dealing with a stray, scared kitten that could flee in an instant if he made one wrong move, he inched forward, still holding onto Inoue’s hand, and came to rest his forehead on hers before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Her sweet, honey scent reached his nose and wrapped itself all around him, and he almost missed her tiny, slightly trembling voice over the sound of his frantic heartbeat. “Kurosaki-kun…?”

“Sorry, Inoue,” he said, opening his eyes and looking down at her, her own eyes wide open looking at him in confusion and anticipation, her lips parted, the soft skin of her cheeks flushed a deep red. “For worrying you.” He finished, and a silence settled between the two as she relaxed, her shoulders drooping down and her eyelids fluttering closed, a deep breath slipping past her lips, her expression melting into one of content.

Ichigo followed her lead, closing his eyes as well and rubbing his nose against hers in an affectionate gesture he vaguely remembered seeing his father and mother doing when he was a child, tightening the grip on her hand and swallowing down the nervous lump that had formed in his throat, reveling in the short, content giggle their noses rubbing together elicited from her. He let his expression relax with a small smile of his own and opened his eyes to briefly look at her, only to find her looking right back at him, her flushed cheeks complementing the look on her eyes, bright with happiness, glistening with affection; and his smile widened the slightest bit before he closed his eyes once more and brought his face even closer to hers, pressing their lips together briefly, and once again when he realized that she wouldn’t push him back.

To say he hadn’t thought of this moment would be the filthiest of lies, but even his most vivid dreams couldn’t compare to what it felt like to kiss Orihime: her lips were softer than he thought they would be, and she tasted like vanilla and lemons and happiness and sunshine, her lips fitting against his in a way he had never imagined. The hand that wasn’t on his cheek moved to rest on his shoulder, and his own free hand moved to cup one of her cheeks and rub his thumb slowly over her cheekbone, his heart beating so fast he briefly wondered if it was possible for it to burst out of his chest, and he felt his whole body tingle with joy, feeling as if he could run a marathon, climb a mountain and take over the world in the same day, and he wanted nothing more than this moment to last forever.

It had to end, however, when Orihime tried stretching one of her legs and accidentally kicked one of the legs of the table, breaking the kiss in favor of letting a pained squeak. Her hands left him and he instantly missed their warmth, and he watched as she rubbed at her bare foot, blush still bright on her cheeks and expression now nervous. “Are you okay, Inoue?” he asked, and when she turned her face back to him he couldn’t help but snort: her bottom lip was between her teeth and her eyebrows were curved upwards in what was the simultaneously cutest and funniest distressed expression he had ever seen, and together with the nervousness that was getting to him after the intimate moment passed, he couldn’t help but laugh, loud and careless and just plain blissful.

“You’re so mean, Kurosaki-kun!” she complained, before she joined him in his laughing fit, and her laughter melting into unattractive little snorts only added to their amusement that seemed to last forever and slowly melted back into the comfortable atmosphere between the two, just sitting next to each other enjoying one another’s company.

“Sorry, Inoue,” he said when his laughter died down, and he reached out to take one of her hands in his, going back to rubbing his thumb on her skin. Her only reply was a soft, shy, _it’s okay_ , and the moment seemed to be everlasting as they looked into each other’s eyes with matching expressions of relief, happiness, calm, _love_ ; and Ichigo finally found a properly way to call his not-so-small-anymore crush on Orihime.

He was sure this was love.


	4. and i’ll hold your hand as we move forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to be Kurosaki-kun’s strength”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was "strength"

A thin layer of sweat covered her skin as Orihime put up her _Shiten Koushun_ once more, just a second before Sado’s fist connected with her shield; the strength of his attack enhanced thanks to her friend’s _El Directo_ , and she noted, with a little bit of pride, how this time she managed to stand firm on her feet even as the force of Sado’s attack pushed her backwards, the pale sand of Hueco Mundo tickling her skin as it stormed around them.

It was then that Tsubaki surged forwards, stronger than ever; knocking Sado off his feet and putting a wide distance between him and Orihime. “Sado-kun!” she yelled, and wasted no time in running towards her friend. She winced at the sight of him: sprawled face down on the floor, the sand beneath him tinted red by his blood. She helped him turn around and a distressed sound escaped her lips as she took in the injury she had caused, his arm now sporting a long, deep gash that went from mid-forearm up to his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Sado-kun!” she pleaded as she put up her _Souten Kisshun_ around him, immediately working on closing up the cut she had caused.

“Don’t be,” Sado replied, his voice strained with pain. “We both agreed to this. We’ve been training together for about two years now, thought you’d get used to it.” He finished between gasps, and Orihime bit her lip. It was true that they were both aware that they would physically hurt each other ever since they decided to become stronger together, but no matter how many times he’d assure her that it was okay, that they were doing this for themselves, and for Ichigo, she still couldn’t bear the thought of being the culprit behind one of her dearest friends’ scars.

“More importantly, Inoue,” her friend spoke again once Shun’o and Ayame had finished their work, “You’ve gotten stronger.” He finished, and offered a barely noticeable smile, his eyes shining with pride at his friend’s growth, and she couldn’t help but blush slightly under his gaze and offer him a smile of her own, suddenly growing self-conscious.

“Both of us did.” She replied, a hint of seriousness on her tone, “We’ve worked hard and got what we wanted—and will keep getting stronger and fight alongside Kurosaki-kun and the others.” The auburn-haired teen finished, lifting one of her hands and balling it into a determined fist, her smile turning into a passionate one. Sado’s reply is brief and silent, his smile widening just slightly and nodding his head while he hums in agreement, and Orihime thinks that’s just like him. “Should we stop here? We’ll be leaving soon,” she says, and takes a seat by the taller teen’s side, both directing their gaze to the ominous, infinitely dark sky of Hueco Mundo.

A comfortable silence makes itself present between the two friends, and they spend a few moments observing the sky, both lost in their own thoughts, enjoying the time they have left before going off to take their side in the impending war. Orihime fondly recalls the moments they all spent together, she and Kurosaki-kun and Sado-kun and Ishida-kun and Tatsuki-chan, and all of their friends. She recalls the fun times, the sad times, the dangerous times. The fights, the laughter, the tears; of sadness, of joy, of relief. She thinks of the last time she was in Hueco Mundo, lacking the freedom that today she walks this desert with, and remembers how the people she holds so dear, so close to her heart, fought with everything they had to bring her back home with them, to them.

She thinks of Ichigo, and all the times he offered his hand to her. Of all the times he put himself between her and danger, of the times he made her feel valuable and precious and important. She thinks of Ichigo and her chest tightens with the need to see him, to be by his side, even if the next time they meet, it will be to take part in something as cruel as a war. She thinks of him, and a feeling that’s all too familiar to her creeps up her body from the tip of her toes to the tip of her fingers, crawling around her skin and settling in her chest, making her close her eyes and inhale a deep breath; basking in the sensation of loving someone with an intensity far beyond what one would think was physically possible.

She thinks of Ichigo, and she wants to fight. Wants to be stronger. Wants to walk by his side.

“Kurosaki-kun is inspiring, don’t you think?” she speaks suddenly, and she feels Sado lowering his gaze towards her; but he doesn’t answer, so she continues: “I’ve always thought he’s… very brave, and very kind, and very warm.” She suddenly feels a bit self-conscious, so she brings her knees closer to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Makes me want to be stronger, too. Makes me want to protect him, to protect his warmth.”

Orihime had never directly voiced her feelings towards Ichigo to someone else other than Tatsuki and Rangiku, but these past months she’s felt closer to Sado than ever—they _did_ spend a lot of time together, training, and during that time; they found out they had a lot of things in common—so she didn’t mind sharing this little secret of hers with him.

She continues her monologue in a slightly quieter voice: “He inspires me,” Orihime speaks, her eyes shining with an affection that grows deeper every day, and she feels her lips curving upwards in a small, fond smile. “Whenever I think I can’t hold on anymore, when I feel hopeless—he’s like the light at the end of the tunnel.” She realizes what she said sounded a bit weird and a nervous giggle escapes her as she turns to Sado, and she feels a bit flustered. “Ah—not like, the light at the end of the tunnel people say you see before you die!”

“It’s like… when everything is dark and you can’t see your way, and you’re lost and cold and lonely…” she continues, gaze darting back to the night sky, as if offering it as an example. “And then you see a flickering light, and you know it will guide you back home, and it feels like hope. It starts as a small, tickling feeling in your chest, and then it comes out and wraps you up, and you feel warm again and you can see where you stand and everything is right, and you know if you keep walking and facing forward, you’ll find your way... He’s my strength.” She finishes, and when she turns to look at Sado, his surprised expression makes her laugh, joyful and warm and bright.

Orihime confides him with something she hasn’t even told Tatsuki-chan about. “I want to be Kurosaki-kun’s strength.” And then she finds she can’t hold in Sado’s gaze and looks away, biting her lower lip. “I know that’s selfish of me, but he’s given me so much… It’s only fair to give him something in return, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think it’s selfish.” Sado finally speaks, and when Orihime looks back at him, the expression on his face is serious; as if this was as important to him as it was to her. And maybe it was. “I think… that’s something that Ichigo needs, someone to remind him he doesn't have to fight by himself, that he can rely on someone—on you, and the rest of us as well—as we rely on him. So it’s best if you hold onto that feeling and keep fighting to become Ichigo’s strength.” And then, while he tears his gaze away and as if it was a passing comment, he adds, “I’ll support you. Both of you.” And Orihime feels like crying, a surge of affection for her friend bringing a smile to her face and warmth to her chest.

“Thank you, Sado-kun.” She tells him, her voice slightly shaky and her eyes full of unshed tears; her friend’s encouragement meaning much more to her than he probably thought it did.

They don’t have much time left after that, when shortly after they hear Urahara calling their names; informing them that it was time to go. The pair stand up and walk side by side towards the shinigami, wearing matching expressions that spoke of their unwavering resolve on their faces. And as they made their way towards the battlefield, there was but one thought on Orihime’s head:

_I will become Kurosaki-kun’s strength._


End file.
